Say You'll Remember Me(3)

She stared at me. “I will not be putting this cat down.”

Maybe the knee-jerk annoyance I felt was an overreaction. Maybe it was just the end of a rough day at the end of a very long week and I was already frustrated by the dog situation from earlier, but I couldn’t contain my irritation.

I crossed my arms. “Why bother to come ask for my expertise if you don’t intend to take my advice?”

She blinked at me. “There have to be other options—”

“There aren’t. So what is your plan?”

“I… I don’t know…”

“So it’s the suffering then. Got it.”

She gawked at me. I didn’t care.

I had seen every evil known to man walk through these doors but most of all I was tired of the selfishness and general stupidity I witnessed on a daily basis. The animals that should live, they want to put down, the ones who will suffer, they want to keep alive. They neglect and abuse them, they don’t spay and neuter so the shelters overflow, they dump them, get tired of the responsibility, and abandon them. Well-intentioned stupidity is still stupidity. She was going to prolong this animal’s misery. I hated it and for some reason I also hated that it lowered my opinion of her. I think out of everything, that was bothering me the most.

“Anything else?” I asked. “Or are we done?”

Her eyes flashed. “Has anyone ever told you your bedside manner could use some work?”

“As a matter of fact, they have,” I said. I pushed off the exam table. “Let me know when she stops eating, her stomach distends, and she’s in enough agony for you to make the hard choices that come with pet ownership.”

I walked out.

She followed me.

“What makes you think that I can’t fundraise this money?” she said to my back.

I scoffed. “Human nature?” I said, handing a wide-eyed Maggie the tablet on my way to the office.

“People are inherently good,” she said after me. “They want to help.”

I turned and pinned her with a stare. “People are inherently assholes.”

“Yeah?” she said. “Well, so are you.”

She stood there, her cheeks pink, the kitten’s head poking out of the top of her cleavage. Sexy.

I don’t know why that’s what I thought of in this moment, but sexy was all I could process.

“Fair enough,” I said.

I went to my office and closed the door.





2





SAMANTHA


YOU ACTUALLY DID it,” Jeneva said.

“Nothing motivates me more than being told I can’t do something.”

My sister chuckled.

It was four days after the visit with Dr. Asshole. The GoFundMe had almost nine thousand dollars in it.

Pooter was playing with the jingly cat ball I got her in my living room. She’d swat it, then chase it across the floor and pounce on it. I smiled at her on my way to the couch.

“Did you know it was going to go viral?” Jeneva asked.

I shrugged. “I mean, I can’t always be sure. But sort of. Cute baby animal in need, clear call to action, catchy slogan.”

“‘Pooter Needs a Poop Chute’ was genius…”

“It’s what I do.” I plopped onto the sofa with my iced coffee.

“I hope he sees it,” she said.

“I hope he sees it too. Dick. You know what’s even worse?”

“What?”

“He was like, seriously fucking hot. When he was being mean to me, he actually got hotter. Why am I like this?”

Jeneva clinked dishes around. “Did you write him a bad review?”

I dragged a throw blanket across my lap. “Nah. Honestly, I picked him because he had such good ratings. The reviews actually warn you that he’s all brilliant and crabby, some moody animal whisperer or something.”

“We do love a cranky king,” she said distractedly.

“I mean, I could see where he was coming from, he just didn’t have to be rude about it. I never get why white men are grumpy. Like, we’re living in a patriarchy. You’re the most privileged class on the face of the earth. You’re not walking to your car with your keys through your fingers like wolverine and you’ve got bodily autonomy, why the bad mood?”

“What did he look like?” she asked.

“Like if Rhysand from the ACOTAR series were a real person,” I said, putting my straw between my teeth.

“No…”

“I swear to God. Hold on, I’ll google him, see if I can find a picture.”

I put her on speaker and typed Xavier Rush veterinarian into the search bar and hit images.

A picture of him holding an award popped up on the American Veterinary Medical Association website. He’d been recognized last year for some gargantuan amount of volunteer hours treating rescue animals.

He looked irritated, like he didn’t want to be there. Handsome, but definitely a hostage situation.

“Here,” I said, sending her a screenshot.

I sipped my coffee while I waited for her to look at it.

“Oh yeah…” she said.

“If he doesn’t do the bat wings, tattoo thing for Halloween it’s a seriously missed opportunity,” I said.